


Strangers on a Train

by germain



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, F/F, Fluff, One Shot, Short, University AU, appreciation of attractive strangers on public transport, gen - Freeform, girl!Harry, girl!Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 22:48:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6060969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/germain/pseuds/germain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a cute girl on the train and Harry could swear she's seen those blue eyes somewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strangers on a Train

It was a struggle not to fall asleep.

It was 15:43, her watch claimed, and Harry was being lulled to sleep by the steady motion of the train. It was warm in the carriage, the combination of the early March sun, the heating that no one seemed to adjust to the recent warm breath of spring, and the breaths and body heat of the passengers that filled the carriage just comfortably. A few of them were standing, but there were still empty seats, so they most likely just didn’t feel like sharing a double seat or their stop was coming up next.

That’s what Harry told herself, and what she did – overthink, overanalyse everything. However, she preferred the thought of her just being so attentive and conscious of others – she wouldn’t have sat down and occupied a seat if there had been anyone else who needed it more.

Tucked between a greying man in a nice camel coloured coat who was reading through his newspaper at a leisure pace and a lady of a similar age who carried a potted orchid, Harry felt comfortable on her way home from her lectures.

That was the advantage and also the curse of living in a city large enough to have a university of its own.

She wondered if she’ll ever regret not experiencing her own period of recklessness, young rebellion and the real dorm life as it was presented in pop culture, of drunken nights and sudden freedom, of loud clubs, friendships that were born and died away in the span of a night, of experimentation with makeup, her hair, or the genres of music in her music player.

But then again, being reckless was hard when you had an 8am lecture three times a week and nothing to rebel against, and it was actually her mother who was there to help her dye her hair red at the age of fifteen.

Now her hair was her natural, rich brown colour and reached down her back, long enough to get uncomfortably caught between her back and the wall. Her coat was green and reached halfway down her thighs, and just like on the black cotton dress she wore underneath, there were a few reddish cat hairs caught on the fabric. She swiped her hand across the material, but to no avail.

The train took a sharp turn, making a few of the standing passengers sway with the motion. They passed the court building, the new mall and the adjoined large parking lot, the park that stretched along the tracks, until they finally arrived to the station. Quite a number of the passengers got off the train, only to be replaced by a handful of incoming travellers. It was a small, less popular stop quite a distance from the city centre; however, there were a few dorms, the sports faculty and smaller office buildings that ensured some traffic. Harry’s stop was third in row from then on.

As the train pulled into motion again, Harry rested her head against the window on the wall behind her. It was a hard and uncomfortable surface, so she only stretched her neck a little and tried to sit up in her seat in search for a more comfortable position that wouldn’t let her stockings pinch the skin of her thighs as it painfully imprinted into them. Screw that, really, so much for a lovely, lazy Thursday afternoon.

The coat was the first thing Harry noticed when she let her eyes roam across the carriage again – a beautiful, heavy woollen coat, dark black, combined with a subtle brooch resting above the owner’s right breast. It was hard to make out the shape out from afar, though silver and bright blue gems stood out against the black coat it was pinned to.

Harry looked up, curious as to who was the owner. There were really not that many people who wore brooches in the first place and she felt irrationally annoyed, as she’s been thinking of getting one too for a while to brighten up the monotone coat she’s been wearing for months every day.

It was a girl – a pale one, though her skin had olive undertones. Her brown hair was tied up in a soft bun, away from her face, making it easier to make out her features.

Her face was overall soft but with sharp features, a defined chin, thins lips, a slightly wide nose, and blue, blue eyes. Overall her face was quite ordinary, yet cute and certainly pleasing to the eyes. What added more character to it was her expression. She was looking out of the window on the other side than Harry seated herself on, making it easier to look without the fear of being spotted right away. The girl was standing there alone and in silence, yet there was something, sharp, cunning and playful about her.

Harry scanned the rest of the girl‘s clothes - she wore simple black jeans, black oxford shoes and some white blouse or jumper under the black coat. A black bag was handing off one of her shoulders.

She was familiar.

Harry knew this girl; she was sure of it, but from where?

High school? No way, she’d be considering how to kill her and walk away without getting caught had it been a high school classmate. The softball club? A café she went to often? The library?

No, that wasn’t it.

There was something teasing Harry, pulling at the edges of her mind, ducking before she could catch the image. Bright baby blues, light brown hair in neat braids, quick walk and a cheeky smile.

The medieval literature class.

Of course.

The one at 10am on Tuesdays that started three weeks ago, as they entered the new semester. The girl that sat behind Harry in the corner of the classroom, but Harry saw her walk past her table each of the weeks.

The girl that caught Harry’s eye each time.

It was only natural she’ll come haunting Harry’s beloved calm, lazy afternoon train rides as well, though it felt surreal to see her out of the classroom, as if she really were an illusion restricted to the room 3.02.

Harry averted her eyes in fear of being exposed. She needn’t worry, Train Girl (Medieval Literature Girl? Blue Eyed Girl? Fashion Blog Wannabe But Really Cute And Quirky Girl?) never let the window out of sight for long. Her lips mostly stayed pouty and slightly curved.

For some reason, Harry felt the need to bet she was that kind of person who got their eyeliner right on the first try.

The train passed one, two stops until Harry finally forced herself out of her halfway dreamlike state to focus on the fact that she’ll be getting off soon. The train, that is. That’ll be only kind of getting off to think of now. Jesus, did it really only take a cute girl with nice eyes and a smug little smirk to make her head spin?

One of these days, Harry’ll get her feelings hurt just from projecting fantasies onto random people in order to add some excitement to her days, even though she never considers actually approaching those people in real life and giving them a chance to hurt her feelings for real.

The train passed the old church, and that was Harry’s sign to get up and ready for her stop. It was only a few minutes’ walk to her home from the station, so she didn’t feel the need to do up her coat, since the sun was shining so nicely now.

Walking to the closest door got her about halfway closer to Train Girl, which was why Harry considered it a smart idea to stop creeping. She wasn’t staring that much in the first place, really just stealing looks here and there in the few minutes they spent together in the carriage. However, she knew that if it were her who was getting so much attention from a stranger, she might not have been comfortable with it.

Harry kept her eyes down as the train pulled into the stop and pressed the button on the handle that opened the door. Her head wasn’t spinning, though she did feel a bit strange and uncomfortable this close to the girl, as if there was something that could give away her slight guilt.

A woman on the other side of the door, so much in hurry to get in even at the cost of blocking the door for those who wanted to step out, jabbed her thumb impatiently into the opening button, causing the door to close again and block for a few seconds.

This tiny, insignificant moment threw Harry off for a fraction of a second, making her look up – at the door, the angry woman outside, and finally, the blue eyed stranger, who was now looking on with amusement.

Their eyes locked and the stranger’s quiet amusement turned into a coy smirk as one corner of her mouth went up slightly. Her heavy eyelashes sunk to her cheeks as she blinked slowly, then her eyes returned to the dirty, boring, goddamned window.

A window that reflected the opposite side of the carriage.

A window that reflected Harry’s abandoned seat, a window, that Train Girl has been looking and smirking at the whole ride.

Train Girl looked up again, her expression suggesting they shared the secret.

A window that has been a witness to Harry’s creepy, pitiful checking out.

The door finally slid open and Harry couldn’t step out fast enough, encouraged by her own shame, and those who were waiting behind her. She walked fast, obscured from the sight of those in the carriage by the small crowd and a fence that was supposed to serve as a noise barrier, her cheeks surely burning bright red with the shame she felt sitting in her chest and tingling in her fingertips.

Yet, as she marched down the street ignoring the sound of the train pulling into motion again, she couldn’t help but think that there was something kind in Train Girls’ eyes.

Surely, had she been creeped out, she’d stare down at Harry to let her know she was aware of her unwanted attention. Why did she only made it known she knew of Harry as she was leaving the train? If she welcomed it, why wouldn’t she try to talk to Harry somehow? Was she worried it would freak Harry out and make her shut down? Or was Harry simply a creep who put too much importance into girls returning her looks in public?

This is real life, she reminded herself, not a bloody tv show where you get to meet a gay partner absolutely randomly at the grocery shop or in a library. There was no chance, and even if, how probable is it that she would then be interested in someone who stared at her quietly?

But the amusement, the kind, indulgent teasing pout, that was what haunted Harry on the way home and for the rest of the day.

Basically, it still came up again and again, along with a thin layer of shame for the next few days.

Then, on the next Tuesday at 10am in the room 3.02 the empty chair next to Harry squeaked on the old linoleum and a lithe, curvy body slid into the confined space.

„Hi, I’m Louis.“ a scratchy, deep, yet somehow shrilly voice announced and Harry looked up into the bluest eyes she’s ever seen.

**Author's Note:**

> What do I say....I'm sorry?  
> This is the first time I finished a work and posted it, and English is about my third language,so here's that.  
> I certainly hope you don't regret the time you've spent reading this and that shame doesn't come chewing away on my mind, forcing me to pull this down. I've wanted to write for the longest time, and these are my shameful beginnings.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone, no profit is being made off this. Do not repost.


End file.
